


Love Games (Literally)

by PrussianBluu (ryuutora)



Series: Daisuga Week [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, M/M, They're so cute I hate them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:23:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryuutora/pseuds/PrussianBluu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not the first confession he’ll be giving to Suga. Far from it. They’ve been dating for almost a year now, and neither has tired of these ridiculous games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Games (Literally)

**Author's Note:**

> Done for 'Confession' prompt for Daisuga week. I'm still impatient so this one is going up as well.

Daichi always expected his first love confession to be like something from a film. Maybe love at first sight, passionate adventures together, telling the other person he loves them in the rain or by the ocean or somewhere significant to them both and tears and joyous laughter and “I love you, too.” And their first kiss. Daichi also used to be a hopeless romantic.  
  
He finds that this is much more suited to him. It’s actually very stupid, he thinks, but he’d rather not be approaching the topic any other way, so he grins as he clicks the cap of the (washable) marker back into place.  
  
It’s not the first confession he’ll be giving to Suga. Far from it. They’ve been dating for almost a year now, and neither has tired of these ridiculous games.  
  
His ‘original’ confession of love was accidental and awkward and embarrassing and everything he doesn’t want to remember it being. Of course, all had turned out well in the end, but damn, he had to shake his head just thinking about it. If memory serves him correctly, it went something like, “Holy shit, I think I like you a lot.” Closely followed by, “Holy shit, I am so sorry,” “Please don’t think I’m creepy,” and his personal favourite, “You’re just really cute and I am so stupid.”  
  
They’d just been trying to walk home. But Suga had laughed, as Suga does, muffled behind their hand and sweet, precious, affectionate. They had clamped their other hand over Daichi’s mouth because he was having difficulty shutting the fuck up and told him that it was okay, he wasn’t stupid, Suga thought _he_ was the cute one and had this near-debilitating crush on him and was oh-so-glad to hear that their feelings were reciprocated. For Daichi’s sake, they don’t talk about that day.  
  
Sometimes, he considers the notes, gifts, signs, and grand displays attempts to make up for what could have been romantic but was really only a mess. They hadn’t even kissed that day, what with Daichi trying not to go into cardiac arrest and Suga laughing to hide their own embarrassment. Unfortunately, since Suga plays the game, too, and plays it very well (filling his locker with valentines was equal parts humiliating and adorable) he can’t call it proper compensation. Rather, with both of them playing, it’s a competition.  
  
The “I love you” written on the volleyball isn’t as much a confession as it is a romantic gesture. Or a reminder. Or maybe even just another move in a game. He’s rolled the dice, now he picks up his piece and taps it across the board, one, two…  
  
“Koushi! Ball!” he calls, watching it bounce over to his significant other as they drag a ladder over to the net. They turn, catch it, and raise an eyebrow. He just smiles and waves.  
  
Suga looks again. They roll the ball between their hands and – yup, there it is, the thrilled expression as they read the large block letters, the endearment, returning of the smile and the quiet footsteps across the gym floor. And then Suga’s lips on his, the volleyball rolling away, Suga’s arms around his neck.  
  
He’s not at all surprised to find a basket on the bench of the locker room after practice the next day, two plush crows perched inside among tinselly hay, with a sign propped between them reading, “I love you more.”


End file.
